


Music On The Eve

by honestlyfrance



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve, Party, Pining, featuring me shamelessly writing wardrobe in great detail, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestlyfrance/pseuds/honestlyfrance
Summary: Bucky Barnes has this extensive and flexible music taste as he hoards every genre into his song list. Tony Stark pays for his Spotify, Pepper Potts and he shares iTunes, and Steve Rogers shares his vinyl records. You can count on him already hearing a song you've just heard yesterday on your YouTube recommendations, and you can expect him to have a dance matched to it. Yes, Barnes knows how to appreciate music as much as you would like to think, and he's expected to bring more to the table as the New Year comes by.Nine more hours until Stark's fireworks display, and nine more hours until the Avengers would be screaming until their throats burn out.Sam thinks.Shame on Carol Danvers for suggesting that.He likes the idea though, creating noise. It's music for him.ORNew Year’s Eve party, and Sam stumbles upon Bucky alone.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Music On The Eve

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year, my loves! wishing all of you warm hugs and love, sending good vibes all around <3 cozy up and watch the clock strike 2021 as we exit this hell of a year :')
> 
> this is originally posted on tumblr last Jan 2020 for the sambucky bingo! so this is basically a roundabout way to end my 2020 year, and seeing as this is my first sambucky fic posted it really is something seeing how i've grown so much
> 
> also! also! i made very minor edits, just a few italics, em-dashes, semi-colons. you may also notice how i write people's names at full as well as uhhhhhhhhh my lack of music taste/book headcanons. im gonna cry at my past-self im so glad ive grown 😭 literally after this one, read my latest fic (to hold dear) to cleanse your palette and remember how i write now
> 
> idk this is very drastic from what you recently know of my writing style :'D
> 
> enjoy!

Bucky Barnes has this extensive and flexible music taste as he hoards every genre into his song list. Tony Stark pays for his Spotify, Pepper Potts and he shares iTunes, and Steve Rogers shares his vinyl records. You can count on him already hearing a song you've just heard yesterday on your YouTube recommendations, and you can expect him to have a dance matched to it. Yes, Barnes knows how to appreciate music as much as you would like to think, and he's expected to bring more to the table as the New Year comes by.

 _Nine more hours until Stark's fireworks display, and nine more hours until the Avengers would be screaming until their throats burn out._ Sam thinks. _Shame on Carol Danvers for suggesting that._ He likes the idea though, creating noise. It's music for him.

Everyone was preparing for Tony Stark's get-together at his Lakehouse, exclusive only for the Avengers and friends. Sam Wilson was assigned for drinks, and he's brought as much alcohol as his car can take (some six cases in the trunk and Natasha Romanoff assures him that she can arrange ten more cases into his car and carry five bottles of aged wine on her lap in the passenger seat). When everyone heard that Natasha was helping him, they had placed bets on how much they're bringing. The highest bet was twenty cases or so; the two swore to beat that.

Natasha had attached a wagon at the back of his car and at least ten cases sat there (even then, Sam had told Thor to bring his Asgardian mead and was more than happy to oblige). The four had also decided to play a scam; Barnes would come early with Steve Rogers (who were assigned with pool stuff, especially Steve's vast water guns; where he got them, no one knows) and then placed a late bet of three hundred euros that at least thirty cases or so would arrive; Sam and Natasha would have sixteen cases plus ten which would be twenty-six, and Barnes would bring four cases of vodka which Natasha would sneak in with to claim it as hers. Steve wouldn't know, and if he did, _"Sam told Buck to hold it for him during the drive since the car was too full."_ Fuck yeah, it's foolproof! and if Tony doesn't want to lose thirty grand, Thor wouldn't give his mead to anyone but the super-soldiers, i.e. Steve, Natasha, and Barnes.

"You wearing that?" Natasha asked Sam as he entered the driver's seat. Her eyebrows were raised as her lips lifted into a comfortable smile. "Looks good on you. Never saw a man pull off that look like you do. Only, like—several."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Have you looked at a mirror recently? 'Cause you look great. Seen it on a mannequin before, but it looks great."

Sam wore the same suit he wore in one of his interviews as Captain America, the velvet three-piece tuxedo, wherein (in favor of Bucky's suggestion right after wearing it for the first time) he got rid of the maroon tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons, got rid of the silk jacket in favor of some random latte coffee-colored coat that seemed too big for him but looked too good on him to take off, leaving the white button-up and rolled it to his elbows, he also left the velvet pantsuit, he exchanged his loafers for his brown boots, and he seemed all set for the party. He wasn't exactly the fashion kind, but he had the sense to pull off the attire to the best of his abilities.

Natasha wore a white off-shoulder top and a maroon skirt that reached past her knees. It was a new look Sam saw her wear, more her. Her heeled boots matched his, and she had a velvet plaid scarf around her neck in some intricate braid as well as yellow-tinted sunglasses. Her fiery hair with platinum blonde highlights was pulled into a braid that wrapped around her head that fell into a low bun. She had her dark brown coat wrapped around several bottles of wine—at least seven. She, on the other hand, had a sense of style among them, and she never failed once (unless her cover called for bad outfits).

They looked like they were planning on matching, and at that, they laughed heartily until they were gasping.

"Here— little something to pop that color on you." Natasha removed her scarf around her neck and placed it lazily around Sam's neck. It did bring out the purple on his suit, and Sam shook his head in amusement at that.

That was some time then. It's six-hour hours until New Year's Eve when they arrive.

They were greeted by the Stark family, little Morgan more than enthusiastic as she blew on her colorful horn in greeting on the doorstep. They were then helped by Happy Hogan in placing the cases inside that joined Barnes's contribution, and they've reached thirty or so cases of alcohol (Steve collected the betting money from everyone and was happy that he was entering the New Year with something in his pocket). The cases were cracked open almost immediately once the Asgardians came (even Bruce had his early share, surprisingly) and three cases were already used. By then when the Guardians came, the party was in full swing.

Sam had a glass in his hand as he walked down the hallway leading to the backyard with Maria Rambeau on his left and Pepper Potts on his right. Rambeau had been talking enthusiastically about some mission she recently has done with Fury while Pepper shared her ridiculous shenanigans with the Avengers just as enthusiastically. Sam would converse about the ridiculous things he's done for Steve — but he was distracted.

Before they both separated at the doorway, she whispered something to Sam, and Natasha was right: _"Bucky was serving looks Tony couldn't whip out."_

Bucky stood in front of the crowd on a table with Natasha on his arm, laughing and hollering about some story Sam couldn't bear to hear over the loud drumming music that Peter Quill burdened to play. Something that definitely should've buried itself in the sixties. Bucky wore a mustard v-neck sweater and black jeans that clung onto him — fucking cuffed too. He wore his favorite brown boots, caked with mud he couldn't wash off. He wore a mocha-colored velvet jacket folded to his elbows which showed the latte color inside of the jacket. He had on those ridiculous gloves Sam dared him to wear as a joke, and the fact Bucky went through it made him laugh.

Bucky saw him and showed him his best attempt at jazz hands, cutting himself off to show the black motorcycle gloves with the stupid Captain America logos on them, turning to the crowd as Natasha continued the lively conversation for him.

"I didn't know Bucky knew to dress," Rambeau said.

Pepper sighed. "Tony begged me to let him approach Barnes to ask."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You still told him to keep his distance?"

Pepper shrugged, a glint in her eye as they stood on the porch. "No. But he has promised to keep his hands to himself about the arm."

Sam hummed as his eyes settled back on Bucky, and it almost seemed ephemeral. Sam almost felt overdressed—Tony had a full-fledged suit, but that didn't matter. Bucky looks like himself, with his cut hair and beard; sporting clothes Sam knew to be the real him, Bucky was enthusiastic and at the same time was his quiet self.

After a few drinks and more chattering, the party was ready to hit New Year: everyone had a drink in their hand, some even had grabbed a bottle for themselves; there had almost been a fight (Clint Barton couldn't bear seeing the thirty or so cases, and even argued that Bucky shouldn't even have bet at the last minute); Tony had generously awarded several people as Best Dressed, Sam included with five other people (Natasha, Bucky, Pepper, Rhodey, and Hope Van Dyne took the cake); and the crowd dissipated into several places — the car park where there was a movie going on, near the lake where most of the women were sharing two cases of beer on the grass, the gazebo swarming with people around a pool table, some guys on the deck seeing who can throw the farthest rock, and some went inside to listen to the early century music playing (more of jumping between Bach and Louis Armstrong while Natasha shows people how to drink like a Russian).

Sam wanted quiet. That's what he was searching for.

Sam placed his glass on the edge of the pool table and let Rhodey take over him. Wiping the corner of his lips as he took off his coat, Sam greeted some more people as he made his way inside.

Inside, he fixed his collar as he heard some quiet laughter by Maria Hill, Natasha, and Rambeau. Natasha motioned for the stairs, and what overcame Sam to follow her instructions baffled and scrutinized him. He went up the stairs, and it was almost empty except for the lounge area where all of the teenagers were playing their music from the small speaker Harley Keener brought.

MJ Jones thumbed towards down the hallway, towards where the driveway was situated and spoke no further. Sam followed. Why he was following subtle blink-and-you'll-miss-it moments from these people, he did not know.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he ended up at the end of the hallway; he tried every door he passed him but they were locked. At the end of the hallway was a window doorway hidden by a curtain, and Sam pushed the door and was immediately greeted by Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra faintly played in the background. He closed the doorway and saw Bucky in the far corner on the armrest of the love seat there reading a book, biting on his flesh thumb as his legs splayed out beneath him. The moonlight and lamp beside Bucky served as his light, and the sudden chill of the night breeze urged Sam to rest his coat around his shoulders.

Bucky didn't notice Sam, being too indulged in his book to bother to look up — but Bucky knew someone was with him; he heard the creak of the doorway and the footsteps that lingered on the other side.

Sam leaned against the railing as he looked out on the dirt path that faded into the front yard of the house where five cars parked, and if Sam turned to the extension of the balcony on the other side of the building, he would be able to see from above the current drive-in-movie happening.

"You got a nice birds-eye-view there?" Bucky calls out, not looking up from his page.

Sam turns around and grins at the joke, sauntering over to him and sitting at the far end of the red loveseat, throwing the throw pillow at Bucky who caught it. "There's the light of the party. What? Are the War Machine stories not good enough? Said you'd love it," Sam said. Bucky sat on the seat now, his feet against the wall as his legs rested on Sam's lap; with a growing grin he suppressed with his teeth, he continued to read his book, his face suddenly lighting up with The Look.

"No, I love them…" Bucky turns to the next page; he held a paperback novel in his hands, too invested in the middle of the thick story to keep up with the conversation. His eyes were digesting vivid construction, all playing well into his imagination. "He's funny, really is. I can see them… so vividly."

"Are we talking about Rhodey or your book? What's the title?"

Bucky stopped and his eyes peeled out from the book, and Sam could see his blue eyes glint with amusement and thrill. Bucky resigned to show the cover of the book as he draped an arm over his forehead theatrically, Sam smirking as he read The Da Vinci Code and Dan Brown on the worn-out cover covered with plastic.

"Have you read such a masterpiece?" Bucky said, his eyes closing as his companion laughed as he took the book away from him. Sam read the page he was on, and saw the familiar scenes, ingesting them as if he was in the book too.

"I've watched it, barely remembering it used to be a book," Sam saw the exaggerated look of betrayal on Bucky's face as the man took back the book, burying it even more to his face, mostly to avoid attention to his expressions. Bucky was growing into showing more unwanted emotions and was aware of the fact.

"We gotta watch it together," Bucky whined, his voice muffled. "Langdon's amazing. So is Sophie. So is fucking Dan Brown."

Sam shook his head as he fell into a burst of easy laughter. "Sure. Whatever you say."

The air settled down into a comfortable silence, with Frank Sinatra playing in the background, and Sam was still trying to figure out where it was. Some pop music was playing behind the wall, and the faint Jazz piano played from below, but Frank Sinatra was a stubborn bitch and ended up taking over Sam's ears.

After long deliberation, Sam asked: "Where the fuck is that coming from?"

Bucky said, "What?"

"Frank Sinatra. Where is it?"

Bucky, without looking up from his book, raised the red speaker from the floor and onto his stomach, the faraway voice of Frank Sinatra played at a low volume with a few pitter-patter of rain in the background. Bucky raised the volume from his phone and continued to read, his eyebrows knitted in commitment.

Sam chuckled. "That's cute." He mumbles.

"Hmm… cuter," Bucky murmured, covering his face with the book as he slid downwards into the love seat, half his body on Sam as the other man set his arm across the couch and the other arm on Bucky's leg.

"What was that?"

"Hmm… seen cuter," Bucky grumbled.

Sam shakes his head, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back, listening intently to the rain background on the song edit. He knew better than to realize it was an edited loop, at least an hour.

Bucky turned his body away from Sam as he rested his chin on the railing, sitting upright; Bucky had his eyes widened as he read the next few lines, but not only that, his chest tightened and he felt his blood rise to his cheeks. _Did he call me cute? Fuck, did he?_ He couldn't seem to turn the page, and however many times he read the page over and over again, he couldn't understand it; all he could read was Sam Wilson.

Bucky knew that Sam still had his head leaned back and that only made Bucky tenser than before.

"What," Bucky heard Sam say. "Getting into it?"

Bucky saw Sam enter the party and knew he was doomed from the start. Bucky started drinking so much, and he had drunk five bottles of beer within the first hour with Valkyrie, or Brunnhilde as he was allowed to call her, grateful that no one had the right mind or acknowledgment that he was a super-soldier, so everyone ultimately never knew that he couldn't get drunk. Bucky then excused his blushing over his supposed drunkenness instead of seeing Sam in his (Bucky's) coat and the collarbone he showed off. And was that the scarf that he gifted Natasha with? That bitch.

Bucky hummed. "Pretty fucking intense."

"Tell me about it."

Bucky could feel his heart in his throat, almost choking him as all the heat gathered on his face, and he knew he didn't need a mirror to know he was red.

Bucky grabbed his beer bottle and sipped at it, and not wanting to turn, Sam had brought the cushioned chair from below the table and brought it across Bucky, sitting on it; Sam propped up an elbow and rested his cheek against his palm, raising an eyebrow as he gave Bucky a patient look.

Bucky hid behind his book, quietly whining to himself.

Sam lowered down the book with his finger, revealing the blue eyes that lingered onto the words inked into a page, and the flustered skin of Bucky Barnes. As far as Sam was concerned, there was no part in the book that could make Bucky this embarrassed. _Maybe me,_ Sam thinks, but that seems too farfetched to consider.

"I love it so much, you don't understand," Bucky murmurs, his eyes still on the book as it rests too near his lips. Sam hasn't lifted his hand off of the book, and he doesn't plan for it so soon. "The pacing and clues and everything. His cleverness—" Bucky's eyes met brown ones. "—it's something."

Sam tilts his head, smiling. _Damn that smile._ "That character really is something."

Bucky hums, not leaving his eyes. "He is, ain't he…"

"Who are we talking about…"

"Take a wild guess—it's not the professor anymore…"

Sam chuckles, still not looking away. "So, edited songs? Never should surprise me, but… it did."

Bucky snorted, looks away only to meet eye contact again. "Why would it surprise you so much? You've known me so well I wouldn't be surprised if you knew."

Sam's lips parted. "Knew what?"

Bucky dog eared his page and placed it on the flat surface of the railing, burying his lips into his wrist as he looked away for a complete moment; for a moment, Sam saw his cheeks flare. "That…" Bucky scratched his head, avoiding eye contact. "I… can't get… drunk?" Bucky raises a hand and an eyebrow; the two sharing a short laugh. "No—that, I, too, am a super-soldier."

"I knew that."

Bucky stops himself, burying his lips into his fist as he closed his eyes. "Fuck, What don't you know about me?"

Sam sighed, leaning back, looking out toward the horizon. "Well, shit, I don't know, Your New Year's resolution?" He said, looking back at him coolly. "Tell me all about it."

Bucky stares at him, looking something past Sam's irises in search of something malleable, something tangible. "I want to stay like this," he tells Sam, and he's so sure of it. "I want this to be… anything stable… and agreeable."

Sam searches for the same thing Bucky searched in his eyes— something agreeable, something that says, _Here. This. This is where we are, where we agree, where we stay._ And so Sam says: "No one's calling for us. What else do you want?"

"Hmm…"

Frank Sinatra plays in the background, and Bucky replays the one hour loop as they stayed still, afraid to ruin the constant they wanted to bring to the next year; they both feared the worst, but who was able to take this away from them? A villain? Another Avengers Fallout? _The other?_ No. Sam and Bucky were so good for each other that they'd have to be joking to leave the other behind.

"Go with me," Sam says as he searches for some sort of resistance from the other man.

Bucky laughs at some distant memory. "I've got you," he whispers. "in exchange for everything you've done for me, I got your six, your twelve, your nine, your everything."

"You have nothing to exchange."

"Don't think of it as a favor. Think of it—Think of it as my…"

Sam said, "What?"

Bucky shrugged. "Partnership. Compassion. Love?"

Sam chuckles as he breathes in, hearing the faint bellowing countdown of the people in the far distance, but Frank Sinatra is a stubborn bitch and he's all Sam and Bucky could hear as the mimicked sounds of gunfire echoed in the inky atmosphere, and in the far distance, if they craned their necks at the right angle, they could see the winking flames of different colored fireworks in the distance over at the other side of the lake. The sounds of fireworks sound too much like bullets firing, but they were too deep into this to be afraid anymore.

Sam sighs. "I like the sound of that."

They don't share a kiss, although they both knew what the other wanted to bring onto the table as they entered the new year: Music, one that consisted of both of their drumming hearts as they beat against their ribs, aching for release. Music, one they shared, one that their voices will drum to say, _I love you, as always._

**Author's Note:**

> im on [tumblr](https://honestlyfrance.tumblr.com/)
> 
> here's [to hold dear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559027) to cleanse the palette or if you just wanna cozy up some more <3 sending much love!


End file.
